Feb 3rd, 2017: En Route to Curacao via Manhattan


Our day was taken up by traveling and I’ve realized that I’m particularly industrious on planes. Wrote another article for The Indo Project in my series on the Indische Kwestie which will be out soon.

I realized I was productive because we’re trapped in our seats, bored out of our minds and we don’t have wifi. So rather than sending writers to writers’ retreats on solitary lakes with quaint little huts, it might be better to stuff everyone on an airplane and keep them in their seats for 5-6 hours. They can have one glass of wine but they’re not allowed to watch stupid movies or hide in the bathroom with a book. Inspiration Airlines we could call it but I doubt any venture capitalist or angel investor would go for it.

Exiting the terminal at JFK, the wind cut right through me and I felt sorry for my kiddos who live in this kind of climate that is really cold enough to make hell freeze over. I’ve become too soft, living in CA.

Waiting for our Lyft, I stared at the TWA Terminal which has now been turned into a hotel and I remembered that the first time I came to America (in 1987), I flew into JFK as well, student visa in hand.

The news broke today that, as opposed to the trivialization of Team Trump that claims that only a few people were inconvenienced by the travel ban, between 70,000 and 100,000 people have been robbed of their visas.

Putting myself in their shoes, I tried to imagine what that would have been like for me in 1987, if I had landed at JFK with a visa that I had obtained legally– to have been detained like a criminal or to have been put back on a plane would have been a deeply upsetting experience. The kind of thing that no other enlightened democracy would do. And the kind of thing that would sway people to never set foot in America again.

It’s midnight in New York but Jon and I are wide awake. And we have an early flight so that will be a hard wake-up call.

Good night. Sweet dreams.

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